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Toshinori's day starts like this: his phone reminds him he has a meeting with Mirai, who he hasn't seen in years (not since his former sidekick tried to get him to retire) and Toshinori desperately wants to avoid it.
He already knows what he's going to say, just like he knows what Mirai wants.
It’s what he’s wanted for years now — for Toshinori to retire, to pass on One For All.
And Mirai is right, in a way — Toshinori is running out of time. Long gone are now the days where he could save thousands of people in a single day. Now, Toshinori has to ration his time carefully like a miser with his gold to make sure he can still save some people.
So yes, maybe Toshinori should be working on finding someone to pass on his quirk to, but the process feels wrong somehow.
To entrust his quirk — the quirk his master gave him — to someone he’s never met, to someone he didn’t choose himself… It isn’t what One For All is supposed to be about.
Toshinori got this quirk because Shimura-san saw him, and then saw something in him.
Nobody told her she needed to pass on her quirk to Toshinori.
And maybe whoever Mirai found would be a great ninth holder — in fact, knowing him, they certainly would be — but even if Toshinori did agree, it still wouldn’t have been his choice.
Toshinori sighs, and shakes his head.
“I’m getting ahead of myself,” he tells his reflection. Its sunken face stares back, and Toshinori winces. “I haven’t even met Mirai’s pick yet.”
And even then, Toshinori knows he won’t have to make his choice right away — but still.
It’s that thought, that unease, that lingers with him for the rest of the day, as he does everything he’d pushed back to avoid thinking about the ever-approaching confrontation with Mirai.
Toshinori's getting groceries when the thief strikes, and his feet are moving before his brain can remind him he's almost out of time, that there are other heroes who can take care of this.
But because he’s so close to his limit, the pain in his side flares and he falters.
Just for a second, really, but a second is all that thief needs. The sludge drops down into the sewers, cackling, and Toshinori swears as he gives chase.
He is not ready for what he will find.
No one, he thinks, could ever be.
He reschedules the meeting with Mirai, and they end up sitting at a café instead of Nighteye’s office, staring at each other awkwardly over fuming cups of tea.
“So,” Mirai says, awkward in a way he hasn’t been in years.
Toshinori sighs, hands curling around his cup. “So?”
“I, erm…” Mirai clears his throat. “How have you been?”
“As well as can be expected, I guess,” Toshinori replies honestly, offering Mirai an easy smile.
It doesn’t lighten the atmosphere — in fact, it only seems to make it worse, as Mirai’s lips press into a thin line.
“You went to the boy’s funeral, then.”
Toshinori grits his teeth, his grip tightening on the porcelain. The heat almost hurts, but Toshinori welcomes it anyway.
“I did, yes.” He says it like a dare, staring straight into Mirai’s eyes, and Mirai sighs.
“You didn’t have to do this to yourself. We’re heroes, Toshinori. We can’t save everyone.”
And Toshinori knows Mirai doesn’t mean it the way it sounds, so harsh and unfeeling, but it feels that way anyway.
“I didn’t come here to talk about that,” Toshinori retorts sharply.
Mirai startles. “I’m sorry — I didn’t mean...” He purses his lips again. “I’m sure whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault.”
“Thank you,” Toshinori replies flatly, “but again, I didn’t come here to talk about that.”
Annoyance flashes through Mirai’s eyes — a familiar sight, one Toshinori’s sorry to say he had on occasions liked to provoke in his friend — and he lets out another deep sigh.
“Fine. As you’d like. What did you want to discuss, then?”
Toshinori raises an eyebrow at him. “What do you think?”
Mirai looks at the café around them incredulously. “Here? Really?”
Toshinori rolls his eyes. The café might be a public place, technically, but it’s hardly crowded. Apart from them and the waitress, Toshinori counts only three other patrons, and one of them looks to be hoping that staring at his empty coffee cup will either make it fill in faster or cure his hangover.
“Give me some credit, please. We don’t have to go into specifics, but you can tell me about your… protégé.”
Something in Mirai’s eyes changes. They light up, and his friend straightens his back. “Mirio. My intern,” he says. “He would be a good choice.” He smiles, soft and proud. “He reminds me of you, really.”
Toshinori nods. “What is he like, then?”
And Mirai tells him. He tells him about Mirio’s quirk — Permeation, which allows him to go intangible at will and does sound amazing for heroics, especially with Nighteye’s careful tutelage on how to use it — and about Mirio himself, his personality, how he never hesitates to smile and named himself Lemillion because he wants to save at least that many people.
The description brings a smile to Toshinori’s face even as the artificial nature of this meeting ties knots where his stomach should be.
“He sounds like he’ll be a great hero,” Toshinori tells him kindly. It is true, after all.
Mirai’s eyes sharpen and he backs away in his chair. “But you won’t consider him.”
Toshinori shakes his head. “That’s not — I’m not saying that,” he replies carefully. “But I… Mirai, I haven’t even met him yet. This isn’t something I can just decide like this.”
Mirai snorts disdainfully. “You just don’t want to give it up, do you? It’s the same thing as it was back then — you don’t want to give it up.”
Something goes cold in Toshinori’s chest. “It’s my quirk, Mirai,” Toshinori replies sharply, suddenly uncaring that they might be overheard. “I get to decide when and how I give it up.”
“I know that, Toshinori, but —”
The anger grows, sharpens. “No, you don’t. This isn’t, this isn’t giving away the clothes you aren’t wearing anymore, or selling your car, Mirai! This is — This is my life. You know once I choose someone, I’ll have to retire. You know that.”
“And like I told you years ago,” Mirai retorts, annoyed, “you should already have retired. Toshinori, please, you have to see that this is killing you!”
“And if I hadn’t,” Toshinori counters, quick as a striking viper, “how many more would have died?!” This time, he’s the one pleading. “Mirai, I can still help so many more people! Wouldn’t it be selfish of me not to even try?”
But this isn’t something Mirai’s ever understood — not really.
This is what they had fought over years ago, why they haven’t really talked since.
Mirai wanted him to stop, to retire, after All For One. And maybe Toshinori could have, but he was the Symbol of Peace. He needed to be there, to help people.
To save them.
And maybe this path would end in the death Mirai had seen, but Toshinori still couldn’t picture himself doing anything else. He doesn’t know why Mirai, who claims to know him so well, would ever expect it of him.
… And then he does.
“Damn it, Toshinori,” Mirai shouts, his voice too loud for a moment before he forces himself to dampen it to a whisper, “why can't you see that I'm trying to save you?”
That steals the wind right out of Toshinori’s sails, and his anger falls flat. “I didn't ask you to.” The words stick in his mouth like molasses.
Mirai snorts, looking away as he adjusts his glasses. “Weren't you the one to teach me that heroes were meant to get their nose into everything?” he asks, his tone softer now. “You need help, Toshinori. You can’t do everything on your own. So please, please, let me help this time. You don’t have to pick Mirio if you don’t like him — though I can’t see why you wouldn’t,” he mumbles to himself, something that makes Toshinori’s lips quirk up briefly, “but you do need to do something before this kills you.”
“I…” Toshinori licks his dry lips. “I’ll meet with your intern,” he says, “but I’m not promising anything.”
Mirai heaves a sigh of relief, practically going boneless in his chair, and Toshinori suddenly feels very guilty for causing him so much worry.
“I’m sorry,” he blurts out.
Mirai’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Whatever for?”
Toshinori shrugs. “For being a bad friend, I suppose,” Toshinori replies, offering Mirai a wry smile before taking a sip of his tea.
Mirai snorts. “Well, I guess I could have been a better one too.”
They drink the rest of their tea in silence, but it feels much more comfortable now.
Like the beginning of something — or rather, something paused, finally restarting.
Mirio is just as Mirai had said — brave and kind, always with a smile on his lips and a dream bigger than him.
Though, Toshinori notes to himself with a quiet kind of pride, not bigger than he can carry.
Mirai introduces him as Yagi, an old friend, and Mirio is quick to bound up to him with all sorts of questions Toshinori does his best to answer.
“He really admires you, you know,” Toshinori tells Mirai once they’re back in his office. The walls are suspiciously barren, with traces of hastily withdrawn posters and such, and part of him wants to tease his friend for this very poor attempt at hiding what must have been All Might merchandise.
Once, he would have — even if the thought of being in a room where the walls stare back with his own face will never not be weird.
“He’s a good hero,” Mirai replies calmly, though his cheeks redden. He clears his throat and sits down at his desk. “Well, what did you think?”
Toshinori waves. “I… You were right,” he admits reluctantly. “Mirio would make a good ninth holder.”
Mirai’s gaze stays steady. “But?”
“But I don’t know.” Toshinori shrugs and looks away. “I don’t know. It’s too soon to tell.”
“What?” Mirai snorts. “You’ve got someone else in mind already?”
Toshinori’s silence says it all.
“You do, don’t you? Well, who are they? How long have you known them? What —”
“It’s too soon to tell,” Toshinori repeats uncompromisingly. “For any potential new holder.”
“But —”
“Mirai, it’s my choice.” Toshinori feels tired of having to repeat that. “My decision.”
And maybe if this had happened before the sludge villain incident, Toshinori would just have agreed to Mirai’s offer. Maybe he’d just have said yes without thinking about it too much.
He likes to think he wouldn’t have, but in this room, only one person sometimes knows the future, and it isn’t Toshinori.
Besides which, the sludge villain attack happened. Toshinori had seen young Bakugou — had witnessed the strength of his quirk, but more than that, Toshinori had seen his resolve.
His drive to save his friend.
He’d failed, yes — but so had Toshinori. In fact, the boy had probably done better than Toshinori himself had.
Young Bakugou will be a great hero. The same way Toshinori can tell Lemillion will be a hero to really count on one day, he can tell that young Bakugou will be one of the greats too.
Neither of them needs One For All for that, though — and maybe that’s part of why Toshinori’s so hesitant about giving the quirk to either of them.
“I need more time,” Toshinori says out loud. “Can you give me that?”
Mirai’s lips go thin again and his left eye twitches before he finally nods. “Take whatever time you need,” he says, but Toshinori can tell that he doesn’t mean it.
Not truly.
Not when his gaze stays so urgent on Toshinori’s back as he leaves.
Even after years spent as number one hero and decades since Toshinori was last a student at UA, there is still something uniquely frightening about being summoned to Principal Nedzu’s office for a chat.
The job offer is… unexpected, somewhat.
The talk about One For All and Toshinori’s successor, less so.
“I hear you’ve talked with Nighteye about our young Togata,” Nedzu says, his voice carefully devoid of any intonation but polite curiosity. “What did you think?”
Toshinori sweats. “Young Mirio will be a great hero,” he replies, because that is still true, even if Toshinori is now thinking that even if he were to offer the boy his quirk, young Mirio would refuse it.
Nedzu hums as he pours more tea that Toshinori won’t dare refuse.
“You’ve already found a successor then.”
Toshinori hesitates. He thinks about young Bakugou’s drive, about his fierce need to be the best — and then he thinks about the pain the boy carries and barely allows himself to feel.
Toshinori has tried, but young Bakugou is still so full of rage. Would someone like that truly make a good new symbol of peace?
“I… Maybe,” he says, because he truly doesn’t know what he will do.
He knows what he would like to do, but… Does that make it the right choice?
Nedzu’s beady eyes seem to pierce directly into his soul when Toshinori looks up from his knees, and he shivers.
“I see,” the principal says, his mouth stretching into an unnerving grin. “Well, in that case, I think you should watch the entrance exam closely. Maybe you’ll find someone… appropriate.”
“Maybe,” Toshinori repeats.
He certainly hopes so.
When young Bakugou runs up to him the morning of the entrance exam, while Toshinori’s looking at the beach they’ve cleaned and pondering on what to do about One For All, it feels a little like the universe is talking to him, saying here, this one.
Give me more time, Toshinori tells it back, pleading silently as he laughs and walks back young Bakugou towards his home.
I still need more time to choose.